


These Chains of Flowers

by bachlava



Series: Wear It On Your Hand [3]
Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: M/M, Marriage, Same-Sex Marriage, Weddings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-03
Updated: 2013-08-03
Packaged: 2017-12-22 07:38:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/910616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bachlava/pseuds/bachlava
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five times the whole ohana thing hit home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	These Chains of Flowers

**Author's Note:**

> _Hawaii Five-0_ is all CBS'; no claim or commerce here.
> 
> Special thanks to [zelda_zee](http://archiveofourown.org/users/zelda_zee) for all her help along the way.

[](http://s189.photobucket.com/user/bachlava_bucket/media/hawaii%20five-o/danny/with%20family/marcasite2_zps4eedc3d3.png.html)

 

Now that Steve and Danny are making it official, Grace brings her dog to Steve's house every weekend Danny's got her. Steve doesn't mind too much – the dog's Danny and Grace's responsibility, not his – but he doesn't buy Grace’s rationale that the dog will scare away bad guys. He’s met plenty of security dogs, and Prince Edward Charming Hoboken I is not among them. He’s not the wrong type and has had some training, but he’s a lot more interested in chasing lizards than in guard duty, as Steve points out.

“Believe me, I know the difference between K-9 and family,” Danny says, without looking up from trimming the dog's claws. Hoboken's tolerating it but doesn't look happy. “I gotta ask, though, why don’t you? I mean, even us non-Walrus types can figure out military dogs aren't pets either, but you see all those heartwarming stories about guys bringing retired ones home to their families and all. M/LE dog handlers, Steve, they can still appreciate a pet.”

“My family was never really into pets.”

“And that, right there, is fu-- it’s fouled up, my friend... Hold still, we just got one more paw to go... Every kid in the universe at least wants a pet, and I include some highly abnormal kids in that assessment.”

“I got over it.”

“You had a deprived, miserable childhood. Right, buddy? We need to try and repair Steve's damage, huh?”

“I’m not damaged.”

“I beg to differ.”

“I just don’t want there to be a false sense of security, that’s all. I mean, I know Grace wants to bring him on the Aloha Girls hike next weekend – ”

“But that’s going to be a no, because he’ll get food from everyone’s lunch one way or another, and then I’ll have to schlep sixty-five pounds of puking, miserable dog back across the Waianae Range.”

“Yeah, I might not help with that.”

“I wouldn’t blame you much. But Grace likes to think her dog is a hero, and nothing anyone says is gonna persuade her otherwise. And, hey, give him some credit,” Danny says, allowing Hoboken to free his final paw with a flourish. “Dogs protect their people. They don’t need military training to do it. Do you, Hoboken?”

“Okay, leaving aside the debate about training versus instinct, I can’t believe you let your daughter name that poor dog after what has got to be the lamest place in all of New Jersey. _New Jersey,_ Danny.”

“Hey, do not dis the town of Hoboken. Hoboken is a vibrant, forward-looking city -- ”

“Are you quoting a real estate ad?”

“Hoboken is the birthplace of baseball, and for that fact alone is the best place in America. My daughter is excellent with dog names.”

“I’ve _been_ to Hoboken, Danny. It’s disgusting.”

“Says the man who thinks it’s a great idea to eat a pig carcass that’s been buried in dirt for two days.”

“Dogs eat worse things than kālua pig.”

“Yeah, but they’re _dogs_. They’re allowed to be disgusting.” As if to prove the point, Hoboken the dog licks Danny’s hand. “And they’re real pets, which is a concept that’s apparently not understood by finance-industry moguls who spend hundred of dollars buying _pedigreed rabbits_ to give their stepdaughters. Is it, huh, Hoboken?” He gives the dog a vigorous pet. “That’s nothing against Mr. Hoppy in particular, _capice,_ Grace loves Mr. Hoppy and he is therefore excellent, but in principle – I mean, yes, I am a dog person, but I hold no animosity toward cats, they are perfectly good pets for the people who like them, I will even admit that fish can be a nice decoration, but you have way too much money on your hands when actually pay to have rodents _brought into_ your house.”

“Rabbits aren’t rodents, Danno,” says Grace, appearing with a leash in her hand. “They’re lagomorphs.”

“They’re what?”

Steve pulls out his smartphone. “Lagomorphs,” he says after a quick Google. “See?”

Danny rolls his eyes. “They’re ganging up on us, Hoboken. What are we gonna do?”

“Come with us on our walk,” Grace suggests.

Hoboken practically goes crazy at the word “walk,” which doesn’t faze Grace in the slightest. She just tells him to sit and leashes him up. “Are you coming?” she asks.

“Of course we are,” Danny says. “C’mon, Hoboken. Let’s go chase some lagomorphs.”

“There aren’t any in Hawaii, Danno,” Grace points out.

“One more thing that's wrong with this godforsaken lump of lava,” Danny mutters, and Hoboken licks his hand in what might be agreement.

 

[](http://s189.photobucket.com/user/bachlava_bucket/media/hawaii%20five-o/danny/H50_11_20causticammo.png.html)

Steve maybe should have known in advance that the whole flower-choosing thing would be more than a ten-minute errand.

To give himself credit, he was a little suspicious when Danny claimed his allergies as an excuse for not participating. They’ve been in florists’ shops before, chasing down leads and talking to witnesses, and Danny’s never gotten more than a little puffy-eyed and sneezed a few times. But then, Danny and Rachel agree that Grace should have some just-Steve bonding time, and consulting with the best flower girl seemed like a good activity for that.

So despite all Danny's warnings – the guy does love to exaggerate – Steve doesn’t take his first hint of what he’s in for until Lucy’s mother drops her off at the lei shop. “I’ll be getting a mani-pedi right across the street,” she says, more than a little nervously. She’s still spooked after the camping trip. “I want one of your girls or Commander McGarrett to call me if there’s any – well, if you even _think_ there might be a reason to.”

“I’ll make sure of it, ma’am,” Steve says.

“Thank you. And you can call me Tammy.”

“I’ll make sure of it, Tammy.”

She nods. “Lucy, I don’t want you changing your mind a thousand times and keeping Commander McGarrett here all afternoon. I’ll be back in an hour and a half, and then we’re going home whether you’re done or not, understood?”

“Yes, Mom. I promise.”

“Good... Give me a kiss.”

Lucy does, and then Tammy rushes out the door, looking over her shoulder a few times, before Steve can point out that neither she nor Lucy needs to call him Commander McGarrett, let alone that he's checked out the building schematics and the sightlines and has plans in place for a whole range of possible emergencies.

The instant the florist's door closes behind Tammy, Lucy says to Grace, “Salons are never on time.”

“My mum always complains about that,” Grace agrees.

“Two hours at least.”

“Definitely.”

“Two hours?” says Steve.

That earns him a pitying look from the proprietress, who’s one of the Aloha Girl’s grandmothers and has firmly insisted on a ridiculously good deal. “Why don’t we start with the overall theme?” she suggests, and Steve's stomach drops in a way that recalls jump training.

Twenty minutes later, the girls have established a theme that Steve still can't discern and are finally ready to move on to what's apparently the first real order of business, namely grooms' leis. The proprietress says that's the usual way to do things, and really? Hawaii’s only even had domestic partnerships since 2011. Well, whatever. “Grace, what do you think your dad would like?”

Another pitying look. “He’ll like anything from you, even if he pretends not to,” Grace says, in a tone she normally reserves for her dog. “What do _you_ want to give him?”

“Maile’s what grooms wear,” Steve says.

Lucy’s expression suggests that Steve has just murdered Mr. Hoppy.

“Why, you think I should do something different?” he says, quickly, before she can call her mother in panic.

She does. Grace and the proprietress do too, and it takes them an entire half hour to decide to go with a maile-style ti kane – actual maile would “overwhelm Danny’s face,” apparently – and to twist in a strand each of white tuberose (“because orchids aren’t manly enough, but if there’s no white it won’t look like a wedding”) and some other flower that's apparently necessary (“because it’s _Danno_ ”).

There's a brief respite when they teleconference with Danny about what he'll give Steve (“make sure you get one with some of those nuts on it, Monkey, because that guy is _insane_ ”), which is ostensibly a surprise. Steve sneaks at the M/LE hardware app on his phone while they do that. Browsing actual guns might give the wrong impression if he gets caught not looking at flower arrangements, but nobody's going to get too worked up if he browses the vehicles section. Five-0 could make use of one of the Mark-II Merkavas the IDF's decommissioning if they can work the diplomatic channels to buy one, and Steve wants a good grasp of the specs so he can estimate what the adaptations would cost when he makes his case to the governor.

He's completely wrapped up in that when the girls bounce back, Danny's lei selection evidently made, and barely manages to persuade them that it was only a critical work issue that momentarily took his attention away from flowers. “I wanted to have violets on your lei,” Grace says, sounding like it's a grand tragedy, “because that's the New Jersey state flower, but they don't have any violets.”

“Well, New Jersey's the Garden State, right?” The motto's on a framed print of Danny's, which shows some anemic-looking flowers in an industrial wasteland. “So whatever you choose fits automatically, right?”

“I guess so.”

“Plus,” Steve says, “I'm gonna get some ink for all this. I'll remember that when I decide what to get.”

“Really?”

Oh, God, Steve did not just give an eleven-year-old kid input into his next tattoo. No, that's not right: he absolutely did. He will blame pollen suffocation for any untoward results, but he'll still have to live with them. Just like he has to live right now with his agreement to this lei-shopping thing – he's going to murder Danny, he really is – and try to offer plausible opinions about what various flowers symbolize (different things, apparently) and which ones Mary or Chin or whoever would like. Lucy's mom's mani-pedi is taking long enough to build bionic hands.

But, hey, it makes Grace and Lucy happy. They're all bonding. It's a good thing.

Danny still has to come tank-shopping, though.

[](http://s189.photobucket.com/user/bachlava_bucket/media/hawaii%20five-o/steve/caotica-tatjana6h5_zpsf679a5d3.png.html)

Joe's note comes with no return address, but Steve can recognize his handwriting and, pressing on the envelope under lamp-light, a card identical to the ones some married buddies of his have gotten. He hesitates for a minute, then fills Joe's PO box into the envelope's blank, prints Return to Sender across the front, and leaves it in the mailbox with the flag up.

He doesn't give it any more thought until Danny brings it up that night, just when Steve is about to slip into the best kind of contented, post-coital sleep. “Did you tell Joe you were getting hitched?” he asks, not as drowsily as Steve might have expected.

Steve's instantly alert. “No. Scuttlebutt.”

He hears Danny put his hands up – really? They're lying down, in the dark. “Relax, babe. I just wondered when you didn't open it, that's all?”

“Do you think I should have?”

“No, I don't.” Danny lays a hand on Steve's bicep the way he does when he thinks Steve's tense. “I think the complete opposite. But you had a face.”

Danny always thinks that. “What face did I have?”

“One of the I'm-Not-Happy-and-This-Is-Important-but-I-Don't-Want-to-Admit-Either faces. This one was probably close to Anxious Bloodhound. Not right on the money, but close.”

“Anxious bloodhound? Did Hoboken make a new friend at the dog park?”

“Yeah, looks like an Akita mix. Stop trying to distract me.”

Okay, changing the subject is out. “So we're gonna... talk about feelings or whatever.”

“Yes, we are.”

“Mind if I shower first?”

“Three minutes if you don't want to be sticky for this. Five at least if you need to get your head together.”

There's an argument to be made about the Navy and showers, but Steve decides that it's not worth it right now. By the time he emerges, Danny's gotten himself cleaned up and into sleepwear. “Three minutes and forty-five seconds. That must be some kind of record for you.”

“Longest shower I've ever taken without beating off.”

“Wow, I'm honored that you trust me enough to share that information.” Danny tosses Steve boxers and an old t-shirt to match his own, which he slips into without toweling off. They'll dry fast.

He doesn't feel like returning to bed, though. He stands by the window and looks out into the darkness, listening to the waves. After a minute, Danny comes and stands by him, close but not touching, giving him some space. “So,” Danny says, when Steve doesn't say anything. “Joe and you go back a while.”

“He trained me. I mean, lots of people did, but he had a big role. And I knew him so long. That plus the SEALs, you know...”

“I get what that means,” Danny says. “In a non-special-forces porcelain doll kind of way.”

“You're not a porcelain doll, Danny.” The image brings a grin to Steve's lips, but it doesn't linger.

“I'm guessing Joe was the first thing that made you want to join the SEALs, wasn't he? I mean, growing up, before you really knew anything, but hey, Uncle Joe, right?”

“Yeah."

“I do get what it's like when someone you counted on turns out to be completely different from the person you thought you knew.”

“I know that.”

“Yeah, you do. Because, unlike you, I talk about things. But you and me, right now, we're not talking about Matty.”

Of course not. Danny hasn't heard from his brother in years. Steve dreads the day when that changes, because it probably will change, for the worse. For right now, he just tries to go on a little. “If I'd never met Joe, I still would've joined the SEALs. But...”

“But you did know him, and that matters.”

“Yeah.” Steve swallows. “Him, my dad...” And everything that he thought had happened with Doris when he was sixteen, eighteen, twenty-six... But Doris is too much to think about tonight. Will be too much for a lot of nights, still.

Danny takes a few deep breaths like he's about to start talking and then doesn't talk. Eventually he settles on, “Are you actually aware that you did more for Grace the first few months I knew you than your own father did for you the last twenty years of his life?”

Steve doesn't know what to make of that. What he settles on saying, eventually, is “Was that a compliment, or are you dissing my dad?”

“Stating facts, that's all. You've never been anything short of incredible to Grace and me, even when you have had nothing to gain from it. Or, you know, when I've been kind of a dick about it, because for the record, you rearranging your will was incredibly generous and while you maybe should have notified me earlier than you did, I was still a dick when you told me about it.”

Steve's not going to contest that. So Danny's not perfect. He shrugs. “I tried to be decent. Anybody else would've done the same thing.”

“See, the latter part of that statement is something you know from personal experience isn't true. Which, I know your dad was good when you and Mary were little, Steve, believe me, I get that you loved each other no matter what, but at a certain point he just went off the rails. Really badly, and as far as I can tell he never even tried to course correct. You know that's true,” he says, before Steve can interrupt him. “I'm not even going to start on Joe, because he was fucking you over from Day One. You did something different. And don't just tell me it was the honor or whatever they teach you in the Navy, because you have introduced me to some people, I have just made note of some of those people, who conspicuously failed to learn the lesson, okay? It's you.”

Steve nods. He gets what Danny is trying to say, at least.

Danny steps closer and wraps his arms around Steve, lays his cheek between Steve's shoulder blades in the way that gives him a complex about being short but that Steve likes anyway. “You don't have to spill your guts to me,” he says, “this is not some op with a mission plan and a time frame, okay? You just have to hear it, that's all, babe. You can't fight it, you gotta let yourself know. You talk about it when your ready. Right now... like I said, just let yourself know, okay? Can you do that for me, Steve?”

Steve squeezes Danny's hands. “Yeah. I can do that for you, D.”

“I know you can.” Danny squeezes his hands back. “You're doing it for you too, you know. But if that's too much all at once... you can be doing it for me right now, if that's what you need to.”

 

[](http://s189.photobucket.com/user/bachlava_bucket/media/hawaii%20five-o/scenery/a_gal_icons111218_Shrimp_zps3450fe27.jpeg.html)

 

Kamekona slings out his Wedding Special Shrimp Supreme with aplomb, handing out business cards for his helicopter tour business as he serves the guests. “Newlyweds goin stop holding hands long enough fo pick up fork?” he asks them as he hands them their plates.

“No, the thought of all the lives you're endangering with your flying shrimp death trap is ruining my appetite,” Danny says. “Steve and I, we're kind of holding on for dear life here.”

Kamekona doesn't rise to the bait this time, just gives them a joint clap on the back, which means near-faceplants into what are still essentially plate lunches. “Haole boys nervous 'bout da big night comin up? I got a cure fo dat, goin put you in the mood.” He saunters off.

“I don’t even want to know,” Danny says. “I very seriously do not. And yet, I’m going to have to find out, aren’t I?”

A burst of feedback keeps Steve from replying. Then Kamekona's voice booms out from the truck. “Aloha ‘auinala, ladies and gents, mahalo fo' come here today and wish pomaika’i to my two favorite haoles! I got a little surprise for them myself, because a male’ana means you got to dance, dat right?”

There’s a collective murmur of assent from the guests. Danny groans.

“Gonna start with a father-daughter-bruddah-sistah dance, then something just for the new kane males. After that everyone join in, plenty room behind the picnic tables.”

“He’s going to double the service charge for this, isn’t he?”

“Probably, but Chin’s still paying it.”

A very serious sound system crackles to life within the shrimp truck – so that’s what balances the thing upright – and the brief static is followed by, “Start this thing off with ‘Ke Kali Nei Au,’ which the kama’aina in the house know is the original version of Elvis Presley’s ‘Hawaiian Wedding Song!’”

“Come on, let’s dance!” That's Mary, who's materialized at Steve's elbow somehow. He obliges her with a little waltz to what sounds like the Makaha Sons’ rendition of the song. It's actually a good number for Danny and Grace’s sway-and-twirl routine. Halfway through the song, Mary backs away from Steve, and in the blink of an eye, Grace is holding his hands. That leaves him to improvise a sway-and-twirl routine of his own. The increased height discrepancy doesn’t make it easy, but Grace doesn’t seem to mind. Steve’s just gotten the hang of it as the last chords fade and Kamekona announces, “Okay, here’s for the lovebirds! Keikis better cover up their ears, this song’s a little _inappropriate.”_

Grace works in a hug and a “Love you, Uncle Steve!” before yielding to her dad. “I hate him so much,” Danny grumbles. “Also, are you wearing an _ankle holster?”_

“What, you’re not strapped?”

“Not with an ankle holster. How many are you carrying?”

“Three,” Steve yells over the definitely inappropriate spoken-word song that’s now being blasted at them.

“Three weapons total, or is that just the guns?”

“Just guns.”

Danny's response is lost in the swell of sound as the song, if you could call it that, turns itself into a pop-punk number that Steve doesn’t recognize. It’s not the kind of music you can dance to at all, which is fine, because Danny can’t dance to anything. Steve can’t exactly manage a Fred Astaire-level performance with an ankle holster himself, so it works out all right. “I am going to kill Kamekona for this,” Danny shouts into Steve’s ear. “I might need some help hiding the body.”

“We’ll arrange an accident with the shave ice machine.” Impulsively, he gives Danny a peck on the cheek. “But let's get through this number first.”

[](http://s189.photobucket.com/user/bachlava_bucket/media/hawaii%20five-o/danny/with%20family/h50141-1http-i13photobucketcomalbumsa252centaine_1981ICONSh50141-1_zpsd7ed1ebb.png.html)

Reserves has Steve on base until Sunday night turns into Monday morning in November, and seriously, he'll kill Anderson's lazy ass himself. The most useless weekend warrior in the whole IRR got flabby and earned extra drills for all of them, extra drills that took longer than they should have, because Anderson took longer. No man left behind, a chain is only as strong as its weakest link, etc. At this point Steve would be happy to take bolt cutters to that softest link and re-solder the chain. He needs to be home, not wasting time on punishment drills.

When he finally does get home, he's pissed off instead of energized, and there's a light still on downstairs and a nasty smell in the kitchen – burnt milk. Smoke is rising from a pan that Grace is running under cold water. “I'm sorry, Uncle Steve!” she says as he comes in.

“It's okay, Grace.” He cuts off the water and sprinkles the pan with baking soda. “Here. Fill it up and let it sit for a few minutes. That'll work better.” He pulls out a chair for her. “Couldn't sleep?”

Grace shakes her head. “I was trying to make warm milk like Mum says to, but I didn't do it right.”

“That doesn't work anyway.” And it tastes disgusting, but Steve doesn't need to be dissing Rachel. “You want some cardamom tea?”

“Does that work?”

“No, but it's nice.” It's one of the things Steve developed a taste for in Iraq and one of the only ones he can actually make. He boils up water, green pods, and just a fraction of the usual black tea so that the caffeine doesn't keep Grace up.

No point beating around the bush, Steve decides. “You thinking about your mom and Stanley?” Steve asks, as if it's a question.

Stan and Rachel are getting divorced. The writing's been on the wall for months now, and the call from Rachel came last week. For the first time in his life, Steve resented his duty. He needed to be here for Danny and Grace, not doing another review of training that, at this point, he couldn't forget if he wanted to.

“Danno's asleep,” Grace half-whispers. “He stayed up with me both nights, and he's so tired...”

“Grace, your dad doesn't mind staying up when you need him.” So Danny'd be crankier on usual than Monday; they can deal with that. “I don't mind it either. I'm just saying...”

“Okay.”

Steve sips his tea: cool enough for Grace to drink now, and she does, after Steve. “What do you think?” he asks.

“It's... different.”

“You don't like it, do you?”

“No, I do. The taste's new, that's all.”

“Well, it's easy to make if you ever want more.”

“Thanks.”

They nurse their tea silently for a few minutes. Steve isn't sure what he's supposed to be saying, or if he's supposed to be saying anything at all. There's not an approved script for this kind of situation, he knows that much. When the silence gets tense, he offers, “You know, when I first met your dad, we fought all the time.”

“I know. He told me about it.”

“You... commiserated, right?”

Grace nods.

“He probably still does. I guess it seems like we still fight a lot – ”

“You don't fight,” Grace says, looking puzzled.

Okay, that's a surprise. “We don't?”

She shakes her head. “You have disagreements. Sometimes arguments.”

 _What's the difference?_ is on the tip of Steve's tongue, but Grace probably doesn't want to parse it for him, and it's not something he wants to hear her parse, in more detail than he wishes she knew. Instead, he says, “I always respected your dad as a cop and as a father. It took me a little while to earn his respect, but it happened.”

“Danno calls it Stockholm Syndrome.”

“I bet he does,” Steve says, amused. “But it took us a while to like each other. I think – well, any two people, there are going to be a few problems in whatever relationship they have. Nobody's perfect, right?”

“Right.”

“Your dad and I, we found out ours right away, and we learned how to deal with them before we were friends. And then we learned how to be friends with each other. Other things came later.”

Grace looks like she's thinking it over. “But Danno and Mummy, and Mum and Stanley – ”

“I don't know, Grace.” That's a lie, but the truth isn't one he has any business telling her. “I wasn't part of those relationships. I just know about Danny and me.”

“Okay.”

“And you've got a home here. You know you're going to stay in Hawai'i, right? No matter what.”

“Yeah,” says Grace, “I know,” and Steve wants to make promises despite knowing that although it's unlikely, he could be reactivated, that the custody dispute over Grace's brother is going to be fucked up beyond belief. But he restricts himself to, “I love you, Grace.”

“Love you too, Uncle Steve,” she says, and then, yeah, she starts crying like she's been threatening to all along.

Steve hugs her. He doesn't know what else to do or say.

He thinks that's maybe all right.

**Author's Note:**

> Image credits: [marcasite](http://marcasite.livejournal.com/), [causticammo](http://causticammo.livejournal.com), [caotica-tatjana](http://caotica-tatjana.livejournal.com), [a_gal_icons](http://a_gal_icons.livejournal.com), and [centaine_1981](http://s13.photobucket.com/user/centaine_1981/profile).
> 
> Title credit: Nick Cave, shamelessly.


End file.
